Her Fault
by FanFicReader13
Summary: President Snow's granddaughter is in the 76th Hunger Games along with the Capitol kids. A one-shot. I don't own The Hunger Games.


Katniss Everdeen, that bitch.

It's her fault, you know. From the rebellion, to my family going broke, even me being in this last "symbolic" Hunger Games.

And she's doing this just to piss of my grandfather, President Snow. Well, she's barking up the wrong tree. He couldn't give a damn about me if he tried.

We used to get along great. He was the normal dotting granddad and I was the kid who had him wrapped around my little finger. He would buy me presents, and bring me lots of treats from that candy store I loved so much. He used to care about me. He really did.

Until I was about four or five years old, and he came over for dinner to celebrate me finishing my first week of school. And one of the kids there had mentioned the Games, and me being a curious kid, I asked about it at dinner.

And he explained about the Games. Well, 'boasted' or 'bragged' might be more appropriate. When he was done I said, "You make them kill each other? But they didn't do anything." And he replied, "Their families did. It's to remind them." And then I turned to him and said the one thing he couldn't handle from the little one who admired him so, "That's wrong." And he slapped me so hard it left a bruise for weeks. I ran away crying and hid in my closet, away from the yells coming from my father at the dinner table.

After that he only sent me cards with loads of cash on the holidays. But I never spoke to good ol' pop-pop again.

And now that gramps has gone and killed a bunch of little ones, I'm paying for it.

It's amazing I've made it to the top three.

This year's games have taken place in a forest of some sort. It's always cold and barren, nothing is around. I hardly see anything living.

People are dropping like flies from the cold and starvation.

All I have to do is wait out 2 other people. I can do it, I know I can.

So I lay here, propped of on a snow covered tree, huddled up in the big fleece jacket they gave me before the Games, breathing heavily, trying to outlive some of my classmates.

And then I hear someone's boots clash in to the snow behind my tree.

Deciding I'm hidden enough by the tree, I turn my head over my shoulder to see Lena, who I had recognized instantly from when I saw her in training.

She was two grades below me, but we took the same art class, and on occasion she would sit next to me at lunch. She is a tiny thing, maybe 5'2", but had a heart twice her size.

But her big heart made her a little naïve to the world and how cruel it can be.

She would always have her blonde locks pinned up in curls, and her clothes never had a spot on them, even when we got a little messy with the paint in art.

But now, her hair was matted and her clothes were torn and dirty.

She's resting up against a tree like me, but her knees are drawn up, with her head buried in them. And I can hear soft sobs.

And that's when I see the large and muscle-y boy, who's name I recall being Mac, pick up little Lena from the neck.

He's choking her!

I have to help her, I know I shouldn't. I should just leave her there, and let her die. Just wait it out. But I can't.

So, I grab my knife and struggle to get up. I try to manage a run, but I'm sure it looks more like a jog with a slight tumble.

He sees me coming toward him, and he drops poor Lena in to the snow.

Mac pounces on me, his knife pointed out and now deep in my stomach.

But my own knife was pointed out the same, and is now stuck in his heart.

I give one hard shove and he is off of me.

I hear the cannon go off, confirming his death.

Lena comes running toward me, sobbing even worse than before. "It's all my fault! I'm sorry, I'm sorry."

"It's not your fault," I moan. I manage to put my hand over hers, to give her some comfort.

I don't know why I even bother comforting her. I'm the one dying here! Maybe _I'd _like some comfort. But instead I'm comforting the weeping girl beside me.

I tune out Lena's wails, along with the sharp pain in my gut.

The snow around me is dyed bright red, while sweet Lena watches me die between sobs, and I'm never going to see the outside world again.

As everything fades away, I can't help but think what I said to Lena is true.

It's not her fault. It's that fucking Mockingjay's fault.

Katniss Everdeen, that bitch.


End file.
